


You Don't Know Me

by EffieTrinket1619



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: And Also Aziraphale Is To Blame here, Angst, Asexual Relationship, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Child Death, Cuddling, Forced to Watch, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Mutilation, No beta we fall like Crowley, Panic Attacks, Psychological Torture, Rated T for Crowley's Language, Rescue, Shapeshifting, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Suicide Attempt, Torture, Wings, how does one title, im sorry in advance, no one actually dies, okay i may overstep the line several times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23092531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EffieTrinket1619/pseuds/EffieTrinket1619
Summary: “Prove your loyalty. Kill them.”“They’re just a kid.”
Relationships: Anathema Device & The Them (Good Omens), Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Crowley & The Them (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 60





	You Don't Know Me

**Author's Note:**

> This ended up being much longer than I wanted it to be. I would like everyone to know that I never write plot outlines in defense for how these turn out. With that, here are the trigger warnings!  
> Tw:  
> Screaming  
> Swearing  
> Torture  
> Panic attacks  
> Crying  
> Psychological torture  
> Being being sadists  
> Child death  
> Like, kids get really hurt in this  
> Mutilation  
> Most of the gory stuff is only touched on, but be careful!  
> A kidnapping  
> Snake (Crowley turns into a snake)  
> Murder  
> Someone does attempt suicide  
> It's unsuccessful  
> Stay safe and enjoy!

Crowley would’ve thought that the worst day of his life would’ve been either overcast or really warm. It was neither.

It was a mild day, as if the weather couldn’t decide between cold or hot just yet, but it was a nice enough day to go out. Of course, he didn’t go alone. How could he, when every trip is improved by the presence of someone you loved?

Of course, Aziraphale could be infuriating sometimes. Like this morning, when he was insisting the two of them take a day trip down to Tadfield to visit the former Antichrist and his friends. And it wasn’t like Crowley didn’t like Adam and the Them. They were fun to be around, and tempting them to throw eggs at windows or set Dog on some poor cat was extremely easy.

There were two reasons, actually. One: he couldn’t be bothered driving to Tadfield just to check up on some kids just because the weather was nice. He would rather stay in London and feed the ducks or even reorganise Aziraphale’s entire fucking bookshop than expend all of that energy for some kids. And this was coming from a demon who _liked_ kids.

The second reason wasn’t something he was ready to admit out loud. He just wanted to spend the day with Aziraphale. Just one, full, nice day out with his favourite angel, and maybe go to a few restaurants and the cinemas or sleep over at the bookshop, in the nice armchair by the fire. He just wanted an excuse to hang around his angel for the day, even though doing that normally was probably fine if it weren’t for the reputation Crowley had to keep up.

And yet there they were, picnicking on a grassy slope, idle chatter from Anathema washing over him as he watched the kids…do something to some tree. He thinks they were trying get Dog to climb it somehow, which filled him with a little anxiety, but he trusted them to not hurt Dog.

Crowley reached into the picnic basket and brought out an apple which he started munching on immediately. He liked apples. They reminded him of when he’d met Aziraphale for the first time. All of those years ago. He nearly laughed looking around at them all now. Six thousand years and here they were, having a picnic with a witch, a witch hunter, a hellhound, the former Antichrist and his friends.

If he’d been told this would happen six thousand years ago, he would’ve probably laughed.

“Crowley, dear are you alright?” Aziraphale’s soft voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He was looking at him with a hint of worry in his eyes. Crowley shook his head, grinning.

“Nah. I’m fine. What were you saying?” He feigned nonchalance, plucking grass absent-mindedly.

“Well, I was talking to Anethema about that wonderful book on witchcraft that I read last week. I was asking if you had seen it.” He looked rather hopeful, and Crowley had to stop himself from snickering at his expression.

He touched his fingers to his chin in a thoughtful manner. “Let’s see. I think I saw it in your bedside cabinet last,” he said, frowning. “Or it could be on your desk.” His suggestions were accompanied by vague memories and images. Just a flash of the cover here or there in certain places.

Aziraphale smiled thoughtfully subconsciously giving Crowley’s hand a little squeeze, which made him flush a little. Aziraphale, the clueless idiot, payed no attention. “I see. Well, I will get back to you with that Anathema.”

She laughed a little, glancing between the two with a fond look in her eyes. There was something else there, something almost mischievous, that Crowley couldn’t quite place. She leaned back toward Newt, resting her head against his chest. “Well, I’ll be looking forward to it,” she said with a wide smile. “I understand you’ve met some true witches in the past, Mr Fell?”

“Oh yes! Though they died out during the witch hunts. Unfortunately, a mob of angry humans was no match for magic.” He said this all with a sad look in his eyes, which sent a pang through Crowley’s heart. Aziraphale had been quite close to a few of those witches. “Your ancestor, Agnes Nutter, was the last of her kind. It would’ve been an honour to have met her,” he lamented. He looked almost reverent. Why wouldn’t he be? Agnes Nutter had saved their lives.

They sat in respectable silence for a minute or so before a shout jolted them to their feet. Wensleydale ran over, the others following soon after. Was Crowley imagining the fear in Dog’s eyes?

“Behind us, children,” Aziraphale ordered, sweeping the kids behind. Crowley stood to attention next to him. Adam tugged on his jacket, urgent and panicked.

“You have to leave,” he gasped, tugging harder and looking past him. What could be so terrifying, that it scared a goddamn eleven-year-old? He almost didn’t want to know.

“What are you talking about,” Crowley growled, crouching a little already. Anathema was on Aziraphale’s other side already, looking apprehensive. His chest constricted, and he grit his teeth, waiting and ready. “Never mind. Something’s coming.”

Aziraphale nodded tersely, the movement echoed by Anathema and Newt who was beginning to round the kids up to take them away to safety. Nervousness swirled in the pit of Crowley’s stomach. Whatever this was, it couldn’t be good.

Crowley wasn’t sure exactly what he was expecting to happen. Maybe Gabriel or Beelzebub or even Hastur to appear and try to kill them or something. He certainly wasn’t expecting lightning, the kind angels used to travel.

The first bolt shot down in front of them, only a meter or so in front of Crowley’s face. It was blinding white and the shock waves plus the searing heat was enough to blast Crowley back several meters. He crumpled to the grassy floor unceremoniously in a heap, smacking his head onto the ground in the process. Another bolt struck close to him again, this time around a meter and a half away, prompting him to get up woozily and _fucking move._

Aziraphale, who had been momentarily stunned, gained his wits again and began herding Anathema, Newt and the kids away to a shelter nearby. Dazed and slightly disorientated, Crowley stumbled over to the shade of a tree, the dappled shadows screwing with his vision even more. That singular bolt was enough to fuck him up this much, so he didn’t want to chance a direct hit.

Vaguely, he was aware of Aziraphale taking his hands, and leading him off somewhere, murmuring his name.

“Heaven has it out for us, I’m afraid,” he muttered morosely. “However, I have reason to believe that the other angels will give up on their foolish ventures shortly, so just hang on my dear.” Crowley registered hands rubbing his own in a comforting motion. “Are you alright, dearest?”

“Concussion,” he gritted out, blinking rapidly at the strange shapes the light cast. His sunglasses must’ve been knocked off when he hit the floor. Looking up, despite the way his head ached at the movement, he found a canopy of glossy green leaves over their heads. They were sheltering underneath the largest tree in the park, an old oak with low-hanging branches that concealed them from the heavens well enough. However, they only had a little time before Heaven figured out where they were so they had to act quickly.

Aziraphale placed two gentle fingers on Crowley’s temple and let out a little breath as he worked his magic. Crowley sighed as the pain leached away, leaving his head slightly less foggy than before. Fretting, the angel looked back up to the sky. “Oh dear. Oh _dear_ ,” he muttered, pacing around Crowley.

“Hey, calm down. We’ve gotten in bigger scrapes,” Crowley reminded him, grabbing one of Aziraphale’s hands.

Breathing deeply, he pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “I know, Crowley. It’s just…” Aziraphale looked almost nervous to finish his sentence, glancing between Crowley and the lightning raging on outside.

“It’s just what?” Crowley ventured cautiously.

“Well, er,” he began, stumbling over his words, making the bad feeling in Crowley’s stomach get worse, “the lightning it-it’s all—” Aziraphale buried his face in his hands for a moment, then brought them away and steeled himself. “They’re targeting you, Crowley,” he said, voice low and grim.

_Oh shit._

Blinking, and shaking his head, he laughed a little, sounding almost hysterical. He managed to choke out, “What-what would the forces of Heaven want with me?” It was ridiculous. They had no jurisdiction over him. What were they playing at?

“I don’t _know,_ Crowley.” Desperation and terror had crept into Aziraphale’s voice. “I have no _clue_ what they want from you.”

Taking a breath and letting it out slowly, Crowley tried working through creating a plan. The bolts were getting closer and closer with every passing second, so unfortunately, they were short on time. “Right. Calm down angel. We’ll get out of this. Where’s everyone else?” He hadn’t seen the others evacuate.

“Gone. Long gone by now. They’re not the ones that Heaven wants.”

An idea, a brilliantly stupid, bound-to-fail, idiotic idea came to Crowley’s mind. “How fast do I have to run to avoid the lightning?” he asked, face lighting up somewhat with the challenge.

Aziraphale caught on quickly. “Well,” he started, hesitating a little. “You’d have to be very bloody fast if you’re going like _that._ They’d spot you immediately.”

Crowley nodded, brimming with adrenaline. He was already shifting, skin turning to scales, face elongating, appendages disappearing, into the Serpent of Eden. “How about now?” he drawled, voice taking on a hiss.

Aziraphale nodded in approval. “If you were smaller.” He glanced out to the grass, which was short, acceptable for a clean looking park but something Aziraphale was currently cursing at that moment. “Much smaller,” he added hastily, turning toward a direction that the lightning wasn’t striking. “That way. I’ll be a diversion.”

It was this that was probably their downfall. “What?” Crowley’s voice was dangerously quiet with disbelief as he shifted back. “ _Abssolutely not._ You are not giving yourssself up—” he began furiously.

“I am not giving myself up!” Aziraphale said with the same fury colouring his words. “They don’t want _me,_ they want _you!_ ”

Crowley took a threatening step forward, though Aziraphale refused to budge. “And what’ll they do if they catch you? You’ll be as fucked as I am right now! Either we both escape together or neither of us leave.”

Shock registered on the angel’s face, and he opened his mouth to make a furious statement, but a bolt, burning the branches and leaves that got in its way, hit the ground right next to Crowley, blasting them out of the shade of the oak tree.

Groaning, Crowley blinked up at the sun and willed himself to move or shift or do _anything._ Aziraphale was around ten meters to his left, rolling onto his side and pushing himself up, determination set into his features as he lay eyes on Crowley. That was the closest one yet, bad enough for Crowley to feel the burn of the electricity.

A figure appeared above him, one that he would’ve called angelic if the sight didn’t send chills of terror down his spine. He scowled up at them, shifting into a snake and flipping onto his stomach to start slithering away. He felt his body get smaller and smaller as he moved toward _his_ angel. These guys had _nothing_ on Aziraphale.

The bastard was in front of him, smiling unpleasantly, hands behind his back in a patronising manner. “I don’t think so, demon.”

Crowley reared his head and hissed with all the anger and resentment he could muster through the cotton in his head. “Don’t you fucking daaare,” he spat, baring his fangs. He might be disorientated and have a severe allergy to holy water, something that Gabriel has in steady supply, but goddamn it, if there was something Crowley was proud of in his snake form, it was his bite. He had venom that could wipe out anything. “Don’t think I won’t kill you.”

Gabriel just laughed in that infuriating, stupid, fucking awful way he always did and waved a hand vaguely. “Too bad you won’t get the chance,” he stated simply.

_What the fuck is that supposed to mean?_

Crowley bared his teeth and coiled up, about to lash out with a deadly strike—

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

One of the angels, Uriel, his mind supplied, cocked her head at him, a faint smile playing about her lips. Another one, Michael, stood beside her, unsmiling but there was a glimmer in her eye that made Crowley want to run and hide.

There was one missing.

He realised too late, and swivelled to look at Aziraphale, hands held up in surrender as the male, Sandalphon, held some kind of blade to his angel’s throat. Their eyes met, Aziraphale’s calm and Crowley’s terrified.

_“No,”_ the angels mouthed, staring the demon down with love in his eyes.

“What do you want?” he snarled, twisting back toward Gabriel. He was agitated, fury and terror melding together into something else that made him want to sink his teeth into Gabriel’s fucking eyes.

“Ohoho, I think you already know, Crawly.”

“It’sss _Crowley._ And I really don’t know why you’re bothering usss even after we made it clear that we wanted to be left alone.” He drew himself up a little higher. “We will make you regret it, I promissse you that much.”

Gabriel approached, calmly, like how one would approach a child having a tantrum. “Well, we’ll be having none of that later on, will we? We expect full cooperation, or else.”

Crowley bit back the part of him that wanted to screech and attack and maul and kill, instead, choosing to look into the eyes of his greatest nemesis coldly. “I will asssk you oncce again. What do you want?” He articulated every word, as if talking to a child.

“We want you to come back with us to Heaven.” Uriel was the one who spoke, in her clipped, dead tone. “If you don’t, you can say goodbye to him.” She pointed at Aziraphale, and Crowley raised his hackles at her.

“Don’t you fucking dare you bassstardsss,” he seethed looking for an out of any kind—

“Mister Crowley!”

Crowley spun around fast enough to make himself dizzy, and bit back a groan of despair. There, standing with fire in her eyes and righteousness in her heart, was Pepper, the scowl on her face mighty impressive for one so small. He felt fear, this time because if Pepper got hurt that was on _him_ and he’d never be able to take it back at all and-

“Leave, child. Now.” Aziraphale’s voice held no room for argument yet the girl stood her ground.

“You’re all a bunch of bullies,” she ground out, fixing them with a glowering stare that rivalled a hell hound’s honestly. “And that makes you _cowards._ ” The last word was spat with revulsion, and the terror in Crowley’s heart reared its head higher at the way Gabriel’s face twisted.

He took a step toward her, something that made him flinch and shoot forward. “No!” he hissed desperately. Pepper looked alarmed for the first time at Crowley’s outburst. “Leave! Now!”

Gabriel shot a look at Uriel, who reciprocated with a nod. In that short span of time, Brian, Wensleydale and Adam were all standing with Pepper, faces solemn. They knew the danger that the couple were in. Yet they stood, staring down the most aggressive force in Heaven.

“It seems that you children don’t know when to stop, do you?” Michael said, in a patronising tone that Crowley knew the Them would loathe.

True to form, Pepper bared her little teeth. “Oh shut up you hypocrite.”

“What?” The angels of Heaven were not used to being spoken to like this by eleven-year-olds, which would’ve been positively hilarious had Crowley not been terrified for the kids.

“Actually, she’s right you know,” Wensleydale piped up. “You wanted the Apocalypse and when you didn’t get it, you just threw a tantrum over it. And now you won’t leave Crowley and Aziraphale alone just because you didn’t get want you want. You’re the ones who don’t know when to stop.”

“You’re a bunch of bullies and you should just stop.”

Adam nodded in agreement thoughtfully. “I think you should let Crowley and Aziraphale go,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

For a moment, the angels stared at the Them, who glared right back, unyielding, unflinching, unwavering in their resolve. Crowley dared not to so much as breathe for a few, horrible moments.

Finally, the tension was broken by Gabriel, the goddamn idiot, laughing and snapping his fingers. Before Crowley so much as had the chance to speak, he was surround by a cage golden metal that burned his exposed skin. With a hiss, he squirmed, panic mounting and stacking on top of him as Sandalphon and Uriel lifted the cage up and face Aziraphale, who was on his hands and knees. The Them stood in front of him, alarm in every one of their eyes.

“It was nice seeing you kids. Especially you,” Gabriel spat in Adam’s direction. Pepper’s hackles raised, and her glare held death itself within it. “We’ll be going now, if you don’t mind.” Aziraphale stumbled to his feet, shoulders hunched and with a glare that knocked Pepper’s out of the park.

“Don’t do it Gabriel,” he said, deadly quiet. “Leave us alone and never return. Don’t give me a reason to destroy you.”

A blast of magic hit Aziraphale in the chest, knocking him down with a small ‘oof’. Crowley hissed frantically, slamming his body against the golden bars despite the searing heat that overwhelmed him with every passing second. “Azzziraphale!” he yelled. “No, no no no no no no _no no no-“_

Each word was punctuated by a hit to the golden bars. Each word grew louder from a mixture of pain and hysteria.

And the situation somehow got worse.

Brian _charged_ at the angels, with a war cry that made Crowley visibly flinch. Brian didn’t notice the amusement on Uriel’s face as she stepped forward and grabbed him by the collar.

Crowley _screamed._

Ignoring him, Uriel brought the struggling boy toward her, and said something in his ear, before snapping her fingers. Brian convulsed for a second, mouth open in silent agony and went limp. He crumpled to the floor as Uriel let him slip from her fingers.

“What did you _do?!”_ Crowley shrieked, voice becoming painful to his own ears as well. _“What did you do to him?!”_

Adam was shaking, looking from Brian to Crowley to Uriel, real fear in his eyes. A hand grasped his, holding tight and not letting go. Pepper’s hand fit comfortably into his, grounding, comforting, reassuring.

“I’ll get you for that, bitch,” Pepper said, glowering at them. “I promise.” She took Wensleydale’s hand as well, forming an indestructible barrier between the angels and Aziraphale.

“I’d like to see you try.” Sandalphon leered at them unpleasantly.

“Until next time.” Gabriel’s smile was a wicked, sickening thing

Aziraphale’s shout was the last thing Crowley heard before they were struck with white lightning and he passed out.

Something awful had happened and Crowley couldn’t remember what. He just knew even before he opened his eyes, that something was horribly wrong, that it was out of place. The last thing he could dredge up was the faint memory of the sweetness of apples surrounded by warmth safety, and then nothing.

_I am going to open my eyes and I will be back in Soho. I’d have fallen asleep on the couch again and Aziraphale is going to give me a morning cup of tea. Then he’s gonna make some terrible joke about snakes and sleep._

To be fair, it was all wishful thinking. But he was allowed to do that.

Something sharp and distinctly metal sliced through the air, and six thousand years of instinct was what pried his eyes open.

He was in an arena. An arena that had the same aesthetic as Heaven, gleaming painfully white everywhere, edges fuzzy and unfocused, giving the illusion that it was much bigger than it actually was. Sitting up, he glanced around nervously. He’d been allowed to keep his glasses, which helped with the glare, but not by much.

“Ah, finally awake, are we?”

Crowley flinched and leapt to his feet, whirling around in and landing in a defensive position. Michael smiled at him coldly. “I was wondering if I had discorporated your body accidently. Would have been a pain to get you a new one.”

Crowley bared his teeth. “Why would you care about getting a new body? I thought you wanted me dead.” It was one of the many things about this that didn’t make sense. Aziraphale and him were both traitors, both sentenced to extinction, and yet here he was, alive and whole and completely unharmed. He had been blacked out for Go-Sat-Someone knows how long, and there had been no attempt on his life.

His imagination wasted no time in giving him other, horrible things they wanted to do with him. He grimaced outwardly.

Michael simply miracled herself a clipboard and a pen, starting to write. Silence stretched out between them, silence where Crowley tried to summon anything that could help him, anything at all, but to no avail. His powers didn’t work here, yet hers did. And that terrified him more than he’d wanted to admit.

It felt like hours, but in reality, it was only around five minutes, when Michael looked back up at him. Crowley, who was very tightly wound at this point, flinched away at the tiny movement, something that brought faint amusement to Michael’s eyes. “Well,” she began, her voice unnaturally loud in the otherwise silent room, “you’re probably wondering why you’re here.” She was tapping her pen against the clipboard absently. “You’re here for a chance at redemption.”

Crowley blinked owlishly, trying to process the words. “What?” he asked, hoping he heard incorrectly.

“A chance at redemption. If you pass this test, you get to go back to Hell. All charges will be dropped.” She gave him an encouraging and somewhat patronising smile. “You’ll have immunity. You might even be promoted to a Duke of Hell. Isn’t that exciting?”

Crowley’s sluggish brain processed all of this slowly. Promotion? Redemption? After everything that had happened with the Armegeddidn’t, after his near execution, his betrayal of Hell, they wanted to take him back in?

They thought that he _wanted_ to go back?

“And what would happen with me and Aziraphale?” he ventured cautiously.

Michael frowned. “I was worried you’d bring that up. Well, naturally, the leaders of Hell thought it’d be too risky to send you back to Earth at all, so all your duties would be down in Hell. You’d effectively never have to leave.”

This sunk in much quicker. He’d have to stay down in the basement for the rest of eternity. He’d never be able to go bac up to Earth, never be able to ride in his Bentley, never drink fine wine, never raise houseplants, never talk to Aziraphale ever again. The thought of it was so overwhelming and choking and suffocating—

Crowley would rather die.

“And what if I refuse the offer?” he said blankly.

Michael sighed. She’d been expecting this. Of course she had, this wasn’t any old demon she was dealing with after all. This was Crowley, the native, the rogue, the one who fell in love with an angel. “Well, you’re not in a position to refuse, unfortunately.” Her words were cold, clipped, her tone tight.

Frigid blue eyes met golden ones locked behind sunglasses.

“Let me go.” Crowley’s voice didn’t waver. He didn’t allow it to. “Let me go, and we’ll never bother you again.” There was a threat there. Hidden within the words. Rage bubbled underneath his skin.

Michael had a different kind of rage in those eyes, cold, icy fury.

Crowley wanted to back away and run but he had nowhere to go.

Michael snapped her fingers, making the demon flinch. A child appeared.

Crowley blinked. He was expecting torture, or holy water. Something painful and guarantied to kill him. Not this three year old toddler, blinking up at him with adorable, huge chocolate brown eyes. He watched her warily. She was struggling to stand up, and walk around on her own. Harmless, small, adorable and _where the fuck where her parents?_

“Now, this is Ella. She’s turning four in July,” Michael snapped her fingers again. Crowley’s hands jerked up, so that they were positioned in front of his chest, palms facing up. In them appeared a dagger, with a golden handle. Inscribed on the hilt was an angel. Crowley looked up sharply at Michael, heart pounding faster.

“What’s this?” His throat was dry, when did that happen?

Michael looked impassive. “Prove your loyalty. Kill them.”

Crowley felt the air leave his lungs, felt his knees grow weak on their own accord. “They’re just a kid,” he said, hysteria creeping into his voice. He took an unsteady step away from the kid, knife clattering to the ground.

Michael sighed again, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Kill her quickly, or you can watch her suffer,” she intoned.

Insides twisting unpleasantly, Crowley’s hands shook as he fisted them into his jacket. “You’re supposed to be the good guys!” he cried. “You wouldn’t fucking kill a _kid!”_

And now, there was a smile, a dangerous thing that made chills rake themselves up Crowley’s back. “Oh, we wouldn’t. Heaven doesn’t want blood on its hands after all.” She flourished a hand, and a person appeared next to her. “He will.”

“Hastur,” Crowley growled, crouching into a defensive position.

“Crawley,” he drawled, slinking toward the child. Crowley’s stomach rolled when Hastur laid a maggot infested hand on the kid’s shoulder. The little girl, _Ella,_ looked up and began to cry, trying to wriggle away.

“Hastur.” Crowley took a step forward, heart wrenching at the cries. “Hastur, _please,_ do anything you want to me. Just, let her go.” Desperation was fuelling his actions at that point. And then he found that he simply couldn’t move anymore. His muscles locked him into place. Panic bloomed up in his stomach.

Hastur raised a hand, and summoned a knife, a cruel serrated blade. “Why would I choose one when I can fuck both of you up?” He lifted the child’s arm despite Crowley’s screams for him to stop, positioned the knife, blade resting on her upper arm and began to saw.

“Ah, Hastur. Lovely of you to join us,” Gabriel said, smiling widely, face alight as if he’d been presented with the loveliest jewels on the planet. “I was just explaining the,” he stumbled, trying to find a word to properly describe what they were doing, “ _conditioning,_ to Lord Beelzebub.”

Hastur grumbled, walking back into the observation room. “Get on with it,” he muttered. He was happy too, but on the inside. He’d needed that outlet desperately, and being able to see the look on Crowley’s face as he’d torn that child apart was _so_ worth it.

Beelzebub nodded impatiently. “Yeszzz, yeszzz, get on with it,” they said, waving a hand.

“Right.” Gabriel looked through the window of the observation room. Crowley, tied tightly to a chair, was jerking in his restraints, tears streaming down his face through closed lids. His face was screwed up, as if in pain. There was a monitor in front of them, that showed the simulation that he was going through. Currently, he was kneeling in a pool of the child’s blood, cradling what was left of her head and torso, screaming.

Michael was also in the room, the tips of her fingers hovering a few centimetres away from Crowley’s temples. Her eyes were closed, though her face betrayed the tiniest hint of a smile.

“So, five months ago, after the Apocalypse was averted and Crowley and Aziraphale escaped their executions somehow,” he began, turning to their guests, “Michael and I began coming up with a way to take effective revenge on our wayward angel. Then, it hit us.” A hint of a triumphant smile. “The best way to get back at Aziraphale was to use Crowley.”

Beelzebub nodded, not looking at Gabriel. Their eyes were fixed on the window, staring blankly through. “What’szzz the point if the angel iszzz not here to witneszzz thiszz?”

Gabriel clapped his hands together. “Oh, this is only part of the plan. We’re hoping to use his empathy against him. This simulation, is one of his worst fears come to life.” He frowned a little. “Odd isn’t it? Demon liking children. Anyway, eventually, if we repeat this simulation enough times, he’ll grow tired of watching children die the painful way, and he’ll finish them off himself.”

Beelzebub caught on quickly, a tiny smile dancing around their mouth. “I szzee. Brainwash him into killing kidszzz and set him looszze on the former Antichriszzt and hiszzz blesszzed friendszz…”

“He’ll kill them all thinking it’s a mercy. That’s the plan at least.” Gabriel faltered. “However, this process could take a while. He’s rather… _nice_ for a demon.”

Uriel stepped forward, impassively staring at Beelzebub. “We’ve calculated, if the simulations are consistent, it will take a week to achieve the results we want. Maybe longer. It depends on how long it takes to break him down.”

Beelzebub still did not face them. They hummed, the sound like a thousand flies swarming around the room. Gabriel would be lying if he’d said that he wasn’t a little afraid of them at that point.

“All weaknesszz will be szzought out and deszztroyed, Crowley,” they murmured, finger tracing the glass. It left a greyish smudge on the clear surface, making the other angels wince.

Crowley, as if he could hear Beelzebub, shuddered, mouth half open, and went still.

“Really my dear, I’m quite fine. Why don’t you see how Brian is holding up?”

Anathema pursed her lips, placing a cup of tea down next to him, though Aziraphale couldn’t see why she was worried. He had sounded perfectly fine to his own ears.

“Brian’s asleep. Newt’s with him. He’ll be alright. You on the other hand, I’m worried about.” She glanced down at the teacup, clutched by his traitorous hands tightly, as it if were a lifeline. “You just watched your friend/lover get dragged away by the enemy and you haven’t broken down yet. So I’m asking again; how are you Aziraphale? Tell me the truth.”

Aziraphale looked at Anathema, really _looked_ at her, and worn down by the worry in her eyes, finally allowed himself to sag in the armchair. He bowed his head. “Truthfully, I’m not sure what to do,” he whispered. He winced as he admitted this out loud. The truth was almost too painful to bear. “I should be out looking for him, yet I can’t.” The teacup cracked with how tightly he was holding it; a problem which was fixed by a quick miracle and muttered apology as he set it down again.

Anathema laid a hand on his. “We’re working on it. We’ll get Crowley back.” Aziraphale gripped her hand like a lifeline, but said nothing. She continued. “I’ve been trying to gain a connection to Heaven. Are there any back doors we should know about?”

Aziraphale thought for a second, frowning to himself. “Goodness, there _is_ one, around an hour away from Tadfield. Well, it’s not so much a door as a secret trapdoor.” He frowned deeper. “It leads to one of the lower levels, though. I used it only once, to meet with another angel without Gabriel knowing.” He flushed self-consciously, but Anathema didn’t prod.

“Can humans go through this door?” she asked thoughtfully.

“Oh yes, they can but—wait, you’re not thinking of--!”

Anathema nodded gravely, though there was a sparkle in her eye. “Don’t think you’re getting to save Crowley all by yourself in this condition. I’m coming.”

There was a shuffle behind them, and they both turned to look. A voice hissed a string of PG-13 curse words and the Them, minus Brian, stumbled out of their little hiding spot behind the door, all of them rather sheepish, except of course, Pepper.

“We want to come too.” The girl was never one to mince words, something Aziraphale admired now, despite the incredulity of it all.

“No.” “Absolutely not!”

He and Anathema shared glances as they spoke simultaneously. “You are _children._ You should get mixed up in the affairs of Heaven!”

Anathema nodded grimly, lips quirked downward. “One of you has already gotten hurt because of the angels, we’re not risking anything more,” she said firmly.

Adam make a face. “Well it can’t just be you two. There are loads of angels up there,” he gestured to the sky to make his point, “and it doesn’t matter how good you are, or if you’re a witch, but that’s way too many people to fight!”

Pepper scowled. “They hurt Brian and I made a promise. I’m going. I’ll follow you if you don’t let me. So will they.” Pepper quirked her head at the two boys flanking her. For a moment, Aziraphale had thought that the fire in her eyes was actually real.

The two adults exchanged looks. “It’s…It’s too dangerous, Pepper,” Anathema tried. “This isn’t like one of your games. Someone could actually die.”

Adam crossed his arms. “No one dies unless I say so.” His voice was full of confidence that came from being eleven years old. “I won’t let anyone die on my watch. Promise.”

Aziraphale sucked in a breath. Adam hadn’t really gotten rid of his powers as the Antichrist, he just couldn’t destroy the world anymore. Of course, they could use this to their advantage, except for the fact that Adam was all of eleven years old and not even half the size of Newt.

“What will your parents say, if they find you hurt?” Aziraphale knew this was a futile argument, but still kept at it anyway.

Adam shrugged. “I can make us not get hurt as well.” His eyes and tone turned pleading. “Please, Aziraphale. For Crowley, let’s try.”

Aziraphale swallowed at the knot in his throat. “Well,” he choked out, coughing to compose himself. “Well, if you know you’re up to it—”

He cut himself off as the children cheered and hastily continued. “But only after we do the necessary safety precautions. Also, even if Brian wakes up, he’s not going. _And,_ if any of you show any signs of fear or sickness, or if you get hurt before we go, then we’re leaving you behind. No exceptions.” The kids all wore expressions of pure admiration and excitement. He wasn’t surprised. They had faced off Satan himself without flinching.

And Aziraphale lets himself feel hopeful.

He lasted five kids before he’d turned away and started to retch.

He was on his hands and knees, heaving and gasping for breath that he didn’t need, stomach twisting and churning. The images were burned into his hand, a too-small hand that was blackened and charred beyond recognition, glassy eyes which were set into a head that lolled around on a broken neck, different eyes watching him from the floor, detached from their head, five tiny fingers sewed onto a tiny torso, a bottom jaw, drenched in red, hanging onto the face by a thread of muscle, a back dotted with hundreds of needle which were pushed further in the longer the kid laid on their back—

The screaming was the worst part.

“For a demon, you’re quite pathetic.”

Michael’s dead voice was in the background of every round of torture, the only thing he could hold onto and ground himself with. “Shut up,” he growled, not really wanting her to shut up. He wiped at his mouth, despite the only thing coming up being a thin dribble of saliva. Odd. He’d eaten a full breakfast earlier that day with Aziraphale.

“I’m just pointing out what we both know is true.” She waved her hand and the blood and undersized body parts disappeared. Not a trace of the horrors remained, though they were forever branded into his brain. He shuddered and flinched away from the knife in his lax fingers. He shakily got a grip on it, glancing up at Michael. _Maybe he could—_

Then, he was up and moving, running and swung wildly at Michael, eyes blown wide open and hissing ferally. “ _Fucking die you bitch!”_ he screeched, slashing toward her neck.

Where there should’ve been the sound of metal through flesh and an explosion of golden blood, there was only a dull thud as the knife and his hand hit a solid, invisible barrier. Crowley dropped his knife in shock and held his aching hand to his chest. He was strong, mostly because he was a demon, and all of that momentum rebounded on him.

Staggering back a few steps, he shook his head furiously. “Let me out.” There was an edge of panic now. “Let me out Michael.” He looked around, breathing hard. His heart was thudding in his throat, why was it pounding he didn’t need a heartbeat— “Your friends are all here aren’t they?” He was gasping now. “Hey! Gabe!” he screamed at the air around them. “You enjoying this? You enjoying this you sick _bastards!”_ Crowley’s voice was shrill, painful to the ears. Michael sighed a little. Crowley pointed at the sky. “And _you!”_ he seethed. “You, you great fucking _bitch in the sky!_ Children _died_ in your fucking flood and you didn’t care!” His voice choked itself off. Wheezing and panting, he let out a laugh that was more of a sob, gesturing to himself and then the sky. His hands were shaking too hard. “I’m a _demon.”_ Crowley’s voice was hoarse and quiet now. “I shouldn’t love anything. You’re supposed to love everything.”

Michael was sick of this. Any more, and she’d rip her hair out. “Are you done?”

She didn’t wait for his answer, ignoring the pleading terror in his lamp-like eyes as she brought forth the sixth child.

“This is Anthony.” Crowley flinched at the name. “He’s eight.”

And maybe Crowley was imagining it, but Anthony had Adam’s eyes.

“He’szzz turning violent.”

Gabriel nodded enthusiastically. “It’s been only two hours and he’s already showing signs of progress.”

Beelzebub scoffed. “At the wrong perszzzon.”

“Ah ah ah!” Gabriel tutted, waving his finger at Beelzebub in a manner that made them want to break it off. They rolled their eyes instead. “Violence in any way is good. We were expecting this. This shows that he does have the capacity to kill. Uriel, how much longer?”

Uriel looked up from a clipboard, face perfectly blank. “It took two hours for him to utilise the weapon in any way. At this rate, if we keep the simulations constant, he’ll have his first kill within—” she double checked her clipboard, lips twitched upward a little, “four hours.”

They were at the trapdoor, and it wasn’t opening.

Well, it was, but only halfway. The solid silvery sheen that was supposed to coat the entrance was diluted, watered down in a way that not only made the portal useless, but dangerous. That much was clear when a stone that was thrown in shattered as soon as it made contact with the surface.

Aziraphale let out a low keen of despair. “It was too easy,” he moaned, burying his face in his hands. His breathing picked up a little. There was a little voice in his head, the same one that screamed whenever Crowley was in danger, that hadn’t shut up since the encounter, only adding to the panic. “It was _too easy!”_

He sank to his knees, massaging his temples with his fingertips and trying to ward off the crushing misery. Anathema looked over the portal, frown on her face. She’d left Newt with Brian, which was probably for the best.

“Maybe I can fix it.” Adam walked forward, pulling at his fingers a little nervously. Aziraphale stood to attention, pulling himself together for the moment. Adam let both hands hover above the portal. “Work,” he said simply.

The portal fizzled and popped, glowing brightly as it solidified for a shining moment—

Aziraphale felt the outburst come on before it actually happened. Without a second thought, his wings burst forth in all their shining, slightly ruffled glory and shot forward to grab Adam. They curled protectively around the boy as they were thrown back.

Shakily, Aziraphale unfurled his wings, finding that the holiness from the portal did nothing except dislodge some down. No harm done there. Adam was fine too. Aziraphale was just in time. He didn’t want to know how badly Adam would’ve been hurt.

“Are you alright, my dear boy?”

Adam nodded, blowing out a long breath. “I’m fine.” Looking at the now decimated portal, he sighed. “I’m sorry. Now what do we do?”

Aziraphale’s wings disappeared from that plane with a small rustle. “I’m…not entirely sure.” He rubbed his fingers on his waistcoat, over and over and over, trying to calm himself down. He couldn’t break down now. “There are other portals across the world, I have used them I just…I can’t remember where most of them are and some of them are out of commission. I—” He sucked in a ragged breath, clenching his fists. His nails break his skin, making his hand sticky with blood. God he was so _useless._

Anathema nudged him. “Isn’t there a front entrance? Surely there would be one here, considering how long you’ve been around.”

Aziraphale shook his head quickly. “Using the front door would be _suicide,_ my dear. If they found us, it would be over.” He kicked at a rock near his feet, watching it bound across the gravel and land with a soft rustle in the grass.

Wensleydale hummed thoughtfully. “What if we dressed up?” he suggested. Adam nodded.

“I can disguise if you want.”

A crease appeared between Aziraphale’s eyebrows. “Of course,” he murmured. “Your powers can reshape reality.” He shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. You don’t know Heaven’s etiquette. If we’re found out—”

“Then teach us,” Pepper interrupted. “Teach us how to be proper angels. Adam can work on the disguises, you can teach us how to act properly.”

Anathema smiled a little, the spark back in her eyes. “You can draw up a map or something, show us the interior. Maybe you’ll where he’s being kept. Or at least have some idea.”

Adam started bouncing around on the balls of his feet. “We need walkie talkies, or something to talk to each other with, so that we can do it properly.” His eyes lit up. “Like secret agents!” The other kids now had that same look of crazed excitement in his eyes as well. Of course they thought of it as a game. They were children, one of them with limitless powers at his disposal. They wouldn’t take this as seriously as they should.

But maybe, maybe that was a good thing. Not caring, the childishness, making this out to be a game and nothing more. Because that required imagination, something that angels simply did not have. And something that eleven-year-old children had in abundance.

“Alright, I am in.” Aziraphale began herding them toward the car. “The first thing you should know about angels is the way they hold themselves. Perfect posture at all times. It’s drilled into us from the beginning—yes, Pepper, precisely like that…”

Crowley kept count of how many it had been. He remembered their names, their ages, their faces, so that when the mutilation came, he could remember them when they were whole.

It had been fifteen children since his sad attempt to attack Michael. There was no way to track time in this place, he didn’t count either. He’d resigned to this a long time ago.

Every time the dagger appeared resting in his palm, the cold of the hilt leeching out the heat from his flesh, he’d flinched away, but he had yet to drop it. Crowley had found that after a while, he could forget what it was supposed to do and instead focus on coolness of the hilt (it never seemed to warm up despite Crowley not having put it down for ages), the swirling metalwork, the grooves and the smooth parts as well.

The next child, a little boy, barely tall enough to reach his knees, smiled at Crowley before Hastur descended.

Just a little smile, innocent and sweet and so unsuspecting that Crowley’s heart seized and for a moment, he thought he was really dying. He smiled as if he wasn’t staring into the eyes of a fucking _demon._ Hands gripping at his chest, he slumped over, gasping and wheezing through the lump in his throat.

How much more of this could he take?

Hastur used a knife this time, a dainty thing with a curved blade, and held it up to the kid’s cheek. Instead of crying out or screaming, the child giggled as he raised a hand to feel at the knife.

He had Adam’s face.

**_No more._ **

Crowley wasn’t sure what he was doing, but his actions were like a pendulum, and once they begun, they were impossible to stop. All he knew was that he had blinked and suddenly, the child was against him, blood seeping into his clothes. There was a wide, red smile cut into the delicate, impossibly tiny throat. Neither of them even had enough time to scream.

And Crowley’s knife…Crowley’s knife was stained red.

The viewing room erupted into cheers and applause when Crowley took his first life. Even Beelzebub cracked a little smile, though they immediately replaced it with a scowl. “That took too long. Waszz there not a quicker way?” they asked a jubilant Gabriel.

He smiled in that infuriatingly patronising way of his. “We’d originally planned for much more resistance. This is good progress. We’ll have him turned completely within a day.”

Beelzebub snorted. “Theszze thingszz take too long. Why didn’t we go ahead with szzome good, old fashioned torture?” They picked at their jacket sleeve, staring at the screen showing the simulation. Crowley had back up far away from the kid and was having a severe panic attack. _Soft_ , they thought contemptuously, _he’s grown far too soft_.

“Because, my good…er _bad_ demon, your way would not have left a lasting impact on these two. Better to draw out their suffering, eh?” Gabriel went in for a friendly elbow jab, but stopped short at the look in Beelzebub’s eye. “And this is a team arrangement. We organised this!”

Sighing, they nodded wearily. “Very well. Thiszz better szzee szzome good reszzults.”

“Oh, I have no doubt in my mind that it will.”

The children didn’t look all that bad as angels.

Of course, they were all disguised as fairly low-level angels, as to not arouse suspicion. But they would be of high enough status to get where they’d need to go. Naturally, they’d have to split up, as a group of unidentified angels running around would give them away immediately.

But they had that angelic-ness to them. Adam had done his job well. Pepper was a tall female presenting one, with a pale green suit. Her dark skin was a few shades lighter, the facial bones morphed so that her childish roundness disappeared. The face left behind was elvish and pointed. Her eyes had lost the brown, replaced with a striking gold and her hair was tied back in a professional bun.

Anathema, on the other hand, lost her wavy brown hair. It was shortened to chin length, and hung in a straight, unbroken sheet of platinum blonde. She was rather lovely with her squarish jaw and sharp cheekbones. She had gold flowers inlaid on her cheeks and wore a cream coloured suit that resembled one of Aziraphale’s own.

Wensleydale was the tallest of them all, his hair down to his shoulders but slicked back and parted in the middle. It was pinned back, thanks to Anathema, showing off intelligent charcoal eyes and an oval face. His fingers roamed wondrously over his face showing off the gold markings on his fingernails, as if they’d been painted.

Adam was the most changed, skin and eyes going much lighter, hair going darker. He blinked as he grinned half-heartedly at himself in the mirror, heavy brows rising in surprise. He looked like he’d been chiselled straight out of marble, features near perfect. “Cool!” he exclaimed looking over his body, clad in neutral grey. There was a gold streak in his hair, which was striking against the black.

Aziraphale checked them all over, his lectures on posture and mannerisms seemingly successful. “You all look…angelic.” Not _wonderful_ , he would say. Not when they looked like the things haunting him ever since the Apocalynope. “Adam, you have truly outdone yourself.”

He nodded, looked over Aziraphale. “You sure you don’t want me to change you?” He gestured with his hand, at the real angel standing there, a misty look in his eye.

Aziraphale shook his head quickly. “No, no, I can do it on my own.”

Turning to the full-length mirror, he shut his eyes and willed his body to change. He felt bones shift and grow in some places, shrink in others, felt his face change, the burn in his eyes, the sudden growth of hair, the way that when everything stopped, his clothes hung baggy on his frame. There were startled gasps when he opened his eyes.

Long, flaming red hair that hung in waves as it tumbled down his chest and back, golden lamp-like eyes that blinked at him, hollow cheeks and an elongated face stared back at him. There was a pang in his chest.

“Aziraphale—” Anathema began.

“He looked like this when we first met. Back, in Eden,” he added, seeing their reactions in the mirror. “He looked good with the longer hair. I was rather put out when he cut it off.” He laughed, short and choked. It sounded more like a sob. There were tears on his face now. “Goodness,” he muttered, wiping them away. “I am terribly sorry. This was not supposed to happen, I—“

Aziraphale cut himself off when Anathema wrapped her arms around him. She said nothing. Three more sets of arms, much smaller this time were around his middle, and he was enveloped in a shield of affection.

Aziraphale found the energy to shift again. He grew a little shorter, felt his body fill out his suit more, eyes now a warm brown and changed his face to be a little more feminine. He was almost androgynous and gave himself golden earrings.

He kept the hair though.

No, Crowley could not live with this.

Michael hadn’t bothered to wash the blood from his hands. The knife was pristine though. He supposed that it was like a metaphor that way. So he wouldn’t forget.

No matter. He’d figured something out. Bet Michael wouldn’t be expecting this next move from a demon.

“Hey,” he said, wincing at how raspy his voice was. “Hey, Mike, can I call you Mike?” By the look in her eye, he assumed he couldn’t, but to Heaven with it all. It wouldn’t matter anyway. “Guess it doesn’t matter that I killed one, does it?” He lifted himself off the ground, stumbling, shaking so hard he could barely get a grip on his weapon. He grinned, widely almost maniacally. “You were just gonna keep me here anyway.” Michael didn’t respond, eyeing him with cool indifference. “Well,” Crowley continued, “doesn’t matter to me. I’m stopping this game.”

A raised eyebrow was all he got. “Oh?” She didn’t offer any real words, not even a ‘how?’. Crowley didn’t stop smiling though. He was sure he looked borderline insane at this point.

“Yeah. Don’t wanna play anymore. It’s dumb.” The grin grew wider. He touched the blade of the knife. It burned. “This is blessed, isn’t it?”

His question caught her off guard. “Of course it is. All weapons up here are.”

“Good.” He swallowed. There were so many things he had to do, so many things he had to say, but for everyone’s sake, he’d leave before he did anything else.

“Good...?” Michael’s eyes widened as she realised too late. Crowley’s knife was already pressing down.

He shut his eyes as he jerked his hand and sliced, in one clean motion across his jugular as Michael screamed out—

Getting through the front door of Heaven was surprisingly easy. Almost too easy, but Aziraphale didn’t question it much. The three of them split up, branching out to different departments. Eventually, they’d circle back around to the top floor once they cleared this floor. Aziraphale kept his eyes down, trying to blend in as best he could with red hair.

There was no indication that a demon was being kept there, and why would there be? Word travelled fast, and they could not keep big things under wraps by telling too many people. Aziraphale doubted that no one but Gabriel’s inner circle knew of Crowley being there.

He caught Wensleydale’s eye and nodded subtly as they began to go around the long way to the elevator that would take them up to Gabriel’s level. They’d go up in groups of twos, which meant one person would have to travel alone, in different elevators if they could help it, at different times. They needed to stay under wraps for now. Though they weren’t exactly sure how to get out with Crowley later on.

But that was a challenge for future Aziraphale to deal with. For now, they had to focus on one thing only.

Aziraphale found the elevators, and much to his surprise, there were no angels guarding them at all. Odd. Adam smiled at him vaguely, as if they were nothing but co-workers and gestured for him to get into the elevator first. Aziraphale obliged with a small ‘thank you’. Neither of them dared break character in the elevator. It was probably bugged anyway.

They stepped outside to a strange sight.

Many of the angels that were missing from the bottom floor were standing to attention, jugs of what looked like holy water at the ready. All of them looked vaguely confused and a little scared of the proceedings. Crowley was probably here.

Their group wasn’t noticed, but they did not take any chances, splitting off into smaller groups to look around, and figure out what was going on.

This time, he was paired up with Anathema, which made him a little nervous. Neither of them wanted to leave the kids alone, but going back would be suspicious. At this point, all they could do was devise a strategy to get in and find their demon.

“This isn’t normal,” Aziraphale muttered at Anathema. She smiled a little, pretending to have pleasant conversation.

“How so?”

Aziraphale’s eyes shifted around nervously. The angels that were on guard were too unprepared, too ignorant. They looked dishevelled, almost. As if they’d been pulled out of their duties and brought here at a moments notice.

“Something happened that wasn’t supposed to happen,” was all he said. “A wrench has been thrown into the plan.”

“Crowley?” The word came out of her like a breath. Both of them glanced around to make sure no one had heard. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale confirmed. “Whatever it was, it was enough to merit this much protection. Against demons no less…”

The two of them flinched as a door was thrown open. Aziraphale’s jaw hung open as _Lord Beelzebub_ themselves stepped out into the sickly light of the corridor. A gasp ran through the crowd of angels as they lifted the holy water higher. Gabriel came out a second later, an apologetic look on his face coupled with a smile. The angels lowered their weapons at this.

“Sorry, sorry. Just experiencing some technical difficulties. Carry on as normal.”

The angels looked around at each other, shrugged and went back to talking to their peers.

Aziraphale’s heart was thundering in his chest. Whatever Beelzebub was doing here for was decidedly not good. He didn’t want to stick around to find out. But he was snapped out of his thoughts by Anathema tugging on his shirt.

“Kids,” she hissed.

Aziraphale’s mouth moved but no sound came out. He looked at the door which Gabriel had just vacated, and saw a hint of a pale green suit go through it.

“Shit.”

Nothing happened. The knife passed through, but there was no pain, no blood, no darkness. He was whole. Unharmed. His shaking had subsided somewhat, to a manageable level and he examined the knife, touching the blade again. It was definitely blessed, but it didn’t do any harm to his skin, no matter how long he pressed his finger to it. No blisters, no bleeding, Heaven, his skin didn’t even go red!

Crowley looked up at Michael, who was panicking, though he wasn’t completely sure. She certainly didn’t look as calm and collected as she had before he’d tried to off himself.

“What’s going on?” His words were slightly slurred with exhaustion, confusion heavy within them. “What’s happening?”

Michael had gone very, very still, nodded imperceptibly at something, thought Crowley was sure that the nod wasn’t aimed at him.

She wasn’t looking at him, so this was his chance to try something. In a moment of desperation, he lifted the knife and stabbed downward.

The blade phased right through his stomach.

There was a faint buzzing sound, like static that filled the otherwise silent air, and realisation came crashing down on Crowley.

He looked up at Michael, the weapon clattering to the floor. The sound it made was muted, twisted, wrong. Crowley’s hands fisted his jacket tightly.

“This isn’t real, is it?” he asked softly.

The Them were in enemy territory, surrounded on all sides. Adam’s powers kept them hidden, but they couldn’t move much from their position under the desk. Adam had transformed them back into kids to make hiding a little easier. In the short span of time it took for the three of them to bundle up under the tiny space, the angels and demons had come back in, this time accompanied by a lady-angel and a demon with a maggot problem.

“Sorry, Gabriel. My fault for letting him pull that stunt.”

Gabriel waved the apology off, though he looked beyond mad. “No matter now. What are we going to do now that he’s aware?”

The demon with the flies, Beelzebub, Adam remembered, hummed from their position next to Gabriel. “We could juszzt kill him,” they buzzed in that weird tone of theirs. Adam held his breath, hoping they weren’t talking about Crowley. “And,” they pressed on, ignoring the protests from Gabriel, “it iszzn’t like your little…experiment waszzn’t suczzeszzful.” They gave Gabriel a little smile. “You gave a good show. Maybe we can return the favour with the angel?”

The archangel seemed to be mulling something over before nodding and grinning. “Save the demon. Kill him in front of the angel your way.”

Beelzebub held out a hand to shake. “Then it iszz agreed. This bout of miszzery before going back to being immortal enemieszz.”

They shook hands once, signifying the confirmation of a deal that made Adam’s stomach churn. There was no way that they weren’t talking about Crowley and Aziraphale.

Adam held both Pepper and Wensleydale by the wrists, gritting his teeth so he didn’t let his concentration break. He was regretting coming in here without Aziraphale. The gravity of the situation was slamming into him. He was in enemy territory, surrounded on all sides and the only thing keeping them from being spotted or felt were his powers.

“Well,” Beelzebub frowned, looking over the desk at something. “We better be going. We have an angel to catch, I believe.” They grinned at the prospect, something that made Gabriel laugh and gesture to the door. The room emptied quickly after that. The Them shared a smile. They’d have a hard time finding Aziraphale on Earth.

Quickly, the three kids slipped out from under the table, still under Adam’s protection. They glanced around quickly. Adam went to the door, fiddling with the knob and locking it, Wensleydale meandering around before jumping at the startled gasp Pepper gave. The two boys whirled around to look at whatever scared her, and found themselves face to face with the demon they were looking for.

Well, not face to face. He was behind a window, in another room tied to a chair. His eyes were unfocused and bleary, and he looked like he’d been crying. Correction, he still _was_ crying. Pepper made a little sound in the back of her throat. Never had she seen the man so miserable and…broken.

Adam strode to the window and pressed a hand to it. It shattered beneath his fingers, causing Crowley to jump and shrink away. The glass disappeared completely, and Adam helped Pepper and Wensleydale through the window before jumping through himself.

Crowley was watching, his expression one of mounting horror as each second passed. Adam managed his best smile. “Hello, Crowley. We’re rescuing you.”

Pepper stepped forward, mouth pressing tightly together when Crowley shook his head frantically. She looked back at the others. The question was clear in her eyes, though she knew neither of them would be able to answer. _‘What have they done to him?’_

“Crowley, it’s okay. You’re scared, aren’t you?” Wensleydale tried calming him down a little this time. “It’s okay. We won’t hurt you. We just need to get you out of this chair and back home. Don’t you want to go home?”

Crowley’s lips began moving, but no sound came out. They were running out of time, Adam realised suddenly. They didn’t have any time. He snapped his fingers and the rope fell away. The skin around his wrists was raw and bleeding.

This didn’t help anything.

When any of them took a step forward, Crowley let out a sob, or a shout, or just shook his head vigorously. Neither of them knew why. He knew who they were, that they’d never hurt him. Why wasn’t he letting them near him?

“Crowley, please. We have got to get out of here. If the other angels come back—”

“Aziraphale!” Pepper exclaimed. At the sound of that word, Crowley perked up a little. “We can get Aziraphale. Maybe he’ll know what to do!”

Crowley seemed a little dazed, unsure of what to do except stare at the children. Adam nodded and closed his eyes.

“Uh, Adam, what are you doing?” Wensleydale asked.

Adam shook his head. “Shush. I’m concentrating.”

“What for?”

Adam frowned. “It’ll take too long to go and look for the adults, we need them _now.”_

With a small ‘ _pop!’,_ Aziraphale and Anathema appeared in the room, dazed, confused and in their normal forms. It took all of two seconds for the angel to spot the demon, and time seemed to stop as they stared at each other.

Finally, Aziraphale broke the silence. “Crowley?” he whispered.

Crowley nodded, sucking in a sharp breath, holding onto the armrests of the chair in an iron like grip. He mouthed the word ‘angel’ over and over again.

As if in a dream, Aziraphale shuffled to Crowley and leaned down, gently putting his arms around him. Crowley’s shoulders shook, but he was silent as he cried into Aziraphale’s shoulder. His hands gripped Aziraphale’s shirt now, but Aziraphale said nothing, murmuring reassurances into his ear, though there were tears in his eyes as well.

Carefully, he scooped Crowley up as if he weighed nothing, cradling his head to his chest. There was ice in his gaze. “We are getting out of here, are we not?”

Adam nodded, in awe of that look in Aziraphale’s eye, something that he’d never seen before. Then he frowned. “How? I can’t get us out.”

Aziraphale smiled brightly, though there was steel in that grin. “The way we came in, of course.”

There they were, in their group, back in their disguises. Crowley, a snake barely longer than Aziraphale’s hand, was safely tucked away in Aziraphale’s pocket. When they’d shifted, Crowley made a comment on Aziraphale which caused the angel to laugh a little and blush.

But now there was none of that. They were a group of angels just looking to carry out an assignment on Earth. They had the necessary paperwork (all Aziraphale’s handiwork), and their fake names and identities. There was virtually no way that this could go wrong.

“ATTENTION. DEMON ESCAPED. HEAVEN ON LOCKDOWN. NO ONE IS TO ENTER OR LEAVE. PLEASE RETURN TO YOUR WORKSPACES FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS.”

Well, there was _one_ way.

“Fuck,” Anathema muttered, glancing up at the ceiling. They were so close as well, only a floor away from the escalator that would take them down to Earth. Aziraphale breathed long and deep, watching the other angels bustle around. They’d be found out within minutes if this continued, so they had to act fast.

Huddling in an empty stairwell, Aziraphale kept his voice low as he explained his new plan. “There is an exit, not very well known at all, which leads straight into Poland. It’s not far from here, on the same floor as the front entrance. It’s just less convenient, and therefore, won’t be looked too closely at.” He patted the pocket containing Crowley in a gesture of reassurance. “We can figure out what to do from there.”

There was a nod of general assent and then they were off, Aziraphale leading them through corridors that were far out of prying eyes.

Soon, they were standing in the mouth of a corridor that led straight into the lobby. a wide room with different doors around the perimeter. These were mostly portals to Earth, though some were completely top secret so Aziraphale had no clue where they led to. However, the one that they needed to go through, which was hidden behind a rotting wooden door which looked completely out of place in the pristine lobby. There were angels posted at every door except that one.

“Cloak us, Adam,” Aziraphale whispered. Adam nodded and waved his hand. While they felt normal on the outside and could see each other, they were now completely hidden from anything else. Thank goodness for reality altering powers. “Let’s go.”

The group snuck across the length of the room, taking great care not to make any sound on the linoleum floors. Of course, their feet did tap occasionally on the floor, but they were lost to the other feet, either pacing in front of a portal or tapping impatiently.

Aziraphale didn’t quite know what to do when they reached the door. They couldn’t see the portal; it was well hidden underneath the wood surprisingly, but they needed to open the door to be able to access it. Looking around, Aziraphale bit his lip. If they were quick about it, they could open it and step through before the other angels would even notice. “Prepare to run,” he muttered to the group.

He got a grip on the door and wrenched it open after counting to three. And the portal—

Was not there. Bare rock seemed to mock him, jeer at his stupidity. There were so many things wrong about that set up, how could he not have seen—

“Expose yourselves immediately!”

They were surrounded by angels from all sides. Aziraphale felt Crowley quivering in his pocket and cupped a hand around him subconsciously. The angels formed a ring around them, hostility on their faces. Aziraphale let out a slow breath and nodded at Adam miserably.

The cloak was lifted, and the angel began whispering among themselves. They fell silent at a voice which made Aziraphale freeze and elicited a hiss from Crowley.

“What have we here?”

Gabriel’s presence was one that demanded to be felt. Immediately, the crowd parted to let him through. His eyes roamed over the group critically. “I’ve never seen you around. Who are you?” His tone was light and quizzical, but something in his eyes told Aziraphale that he already knew.

“Hello, Gabriel,” he greeted coldly. Wensleydale shifted a little, so he was behind Aziraphale, which didn’t do much considering that Wensleydale towered over them all.

Gabriel smiled very wide. “Ah, Aziraphale. We were just looking for you.”

Aziraphale nodded, crossing his arms. “So I’ve heard.” Then to Adam. “You can drop the disguise now. There’s no point.”

There was a flash and all of them were in their regular skins again. Wensleydale’s hand was twisted in his jacket. Gabriel seemed very displeased. “Now that we have you, where’s the demon?”

The angel shrugged. “I haven’t a clue where he’s slithered off to. He’s a wily old serpent as you know.” There was some satisfaction seeing Gabriel’s face twist up in frustration.

“I’ll ask you nicely one more time. Where. Is. Crowley?” he all but growled.

Aziraphale laughed lightly, and for a moment, Anathema was very much glad that he was on their side. That tiny laugh had nothing friendly in it. “I simply adore the way you expect me to betray my partner like this.”

Uriel, who had appeared took a menacing step forward, eyeing Pepper, and Aziraphale got the message.

This was the day Anathema realised that cold anger was far, _far_ more terrifying than hot anger.

“Absolutely _not!”_ Aziraphale matched Uriel’s step, eyes alit with fury that felled kingdoms. “You will do no such thing.” The threat was clear, and Aziraphale held Uriel’s glare before she back away.

Gabriel was impatient now. “Hand the demon over, and we’ll let you and the kids go.” His eyes grew bright all of a sudden. “Or, give yourself up and we’ll let everyone go.” Anathema looked at Aziraphale sharply, heart dropping to her stomach at his unusually bright expression.

“Oh, my dear, I intend to walk out of here with everyone alive and intact.” He glanced down at his watch and frowned. “And soon, I hope. I had a reservation at the Ritz today, and I do not appreciate missing out on dinner dates.”

Aziraphale was mad. Surely. How was he planning to go against all of the angels in Heaven and get out of it alive?

“You don’t mean that,” Michael chimed in. There was another soft hiss, this one sounding vaguely panicked. “You have no chance against all of us.”

With a mighty flap, Aziraphale’s wings materialised in all their splendour. Not a feather was out of place and they towered over everyone as they stretched to their full length.

“No. You _think_ I have no chance. You simply have not seen me at my best.” With a wave of his hand, a great, flaming sword appeared in his hand. “You see, instead of attempting to insult and manipulate someone to greatness, Crowley and I naturally tend to bring out each other’s best. It does wonders for the confidence, I must say.” He wielded the sword with graceful fluidity and a polite little smile on his face.

The other angels had taken a step away, back from the wide arcs the sword was making. “You-you wouldn’t,” Gabriel got out. “You couldn’t kill another angel.”

Aziraphale cocked his head. “Oh? Like how you attempted to murder me?” He tutted. “Very bad taste of you Gabriel, to not even give me a trial.” His anger didn’t boil or bubble. It froze the blood in his veins, the ice creeping to his heart. He didn’t have time for their games.

“Don’t do it Aziraphale. This isn’t you—”

Aziraphale’s voice thundered as he spoke, his form emitting a strong light. “I am the Principality Aziraphale, former Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden, entrusted protector of Adam and Eve, of the Earth itself. The Almighty blessed me with this sword,” he held it up, the flames reflecting off his eyes, “and I am not afraid to use it however I see fit. And _you,_ Gabriel,” Aziraphale spat, “you don’t know what I’d do. You don’t know me.”

What Aziraphale hadn’t been noticing was Adam, who had crept to his side and whose power had been radiating toward the angels. They shied away from both the rogue Principality and the former Antichrist who was very angry now.

Gabriel had his hands up, trying to diffuse the situation. “What do you want Aziraphale?”

“Haven’t I already made myself clear?”

_An angel, a demon, a witch, the former Antichrist and two of his friends walked out of Heaven that day, with a peace treaty and a vague promise of total annihilation if they were to disturb Earth again._

Crowley could hardly believe it.

He was out and free and this was all real and—

It didn’t change anything.

More specifically, it didn’t change what had happened in that simulation thing. It didn’t change what he’d witnessed, what he’d _done._

Demons were inherently selfish beings, and selfishness was the root of evil, wasn’t it? That was why he did that, wasn’t it? Because deep down, it didn’t matter how nice he was to ducks or to children, because he is and always will be a demon. Lowest of the lows. Irredeemable. And no matter what Aziraphale said, unforgivable.

That was why as soon as they had a moment to themselves, Crowley slithered into Anathema’s closet and curled up as small as he could in his human form. He was too tired to shift back into a snake.

Images flickered past his eyes but shutting his eyes didn’t do anything. Maybe he could wait in the closet until it was over, But, when the pictures didn’t stop, and when they only got worse, he began to panic.

_You’ll have to stay in here forever if you don’t stop thinking. You won’t leave. You can’t leave anymore. What if you do it again? You can’t hurt anyone else. But you have to, you’re a fucking demon—_

He let out a low-pitched whine, screwing his eyes shut and gripping his hair tightly. “Ziraphale— please—”

He was crying out, but a voice inside his head begged him to stay silent. If his angel found out what he’d done, he’d never love him again. He’d be smote, or kicked out and left for dead and he’d never be able to handle that.

_See, you’re a demon. Selfish of you to think about only yourself when you **killed a child.**_

“Shut…up,” he choked out, lungs struggling for air. “Not real…”

There was a voice calling for him, but Crowley was a mouse, silent and unmoving. If he were found, he’d be killed.

The closet door opened and light streamed in, making Crowley shrink away. “Oh, _oh_ you poor dear!” A hand gently stroked his hair, prying his fingers out of their painful grip. Crowley leaned into the touch. “Come here, Crowley,” his angel murmured softly, pulling Crowley into his lap and holding him as if he were a child. “Breathe for me slowly, remember your exercises? Yes, that’s it, slowly now…”

It was a long process, but eventually, Crowley found himself able to breathe again, a small relief, but now one of the lesser anxieties wracking him. “Angel,” he rasped out, “Angel, please I—”

“Hush, my dear.” A crease appeared between Aziraphale’s eyes. “You’ve been through so much today. It would be better for you to just rest.”

“No!” Crowley needed to tell him, this was _important!_ “Angel, I hurt him,” he managed, tears slipping down his face.

Aziraphale brushed them away tenderly. “Who, my love?” There was a look of doubt on his face.

“The kid. I,” he bit back a sob, “I didn’t want to. But Michael was going to kill him anyway and I—”

Aziraphale nodded, frowning deeply. “I see. I shall talk to Michael about it.” At Crowley’s panicked squeak, Aziraphale shushed him. “Do not fret my dear. Heaven and Hell will be leaving us alone for a long time yet, lest they get what is coming for them early.” He scooped Crowley up and laid on the bed before getting in himself. “I believe it is time to go to bed, my dear. You’re exhausted.”

Crowley shook his head frantically. He couldn’t go into the world of dreams now, not when every time he closed his eyes, he saw little bodies mutilated in unspeakable ways. Aziraphale understood and kissed the top of his head. “A little miracle for a dreamless sleep.”

“Thank you, angel. I—”

“Hush now, my dear.” Crowley curled up close to Aziraphale, relishing in the warmth and safety he emitted. He smelt of vanilla and his bookshop. “Sleep well, dearest.”

For Crowley, tonight’s darkness held nothing but peace and he slumbered undisturbed.

**Author's Note:**

> 1: I will never stop  
> 2: The only reason you're not getting full descriptions of the torture is because I'm a lazy garbage bag.  
> 3: God would not have given Aziraphale a sword if she didn't know he knew how to use it.  
> 4: THIS WAS 31 MICROSOFT WORD PAGES LONG--  
> 5: Thank you for reading. Leave a comment and a kudos if you enjoyed, they make my entire week!


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